


Accents

by genuinehope



Category: No Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-11-01 21:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20517332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genuinehope/pseuds/genuinehope
Summary: My teacher wanted us to do the following: "Please write between 100 and 250 words on the subject of accent. As I mentioned in the lecture, this may be anything from a serious analysis of political tensions within your country, to a whimsical piece of creative writing."I went too hard it seems hahahha





	Accents

Accent 

The sky was cloudy. 

However, this had never stopped Rosy in hopping over the field in her squeaky, yellow boots. So, on the grey and windy day she found herself exhausted among her favorite tree like any other day. The damp grass tickled her legs and the smell of wet asphalt that wafted over from the nearby road headed towards the cities surrounding her little village reminded her of an autumn day long gone by. 

She had been wearing her boots just like today. Back then she had had a slice of bread in her hand, one that her mother had given her so that she would not spend her afternoon hungry before she would return in the late evening. 

She had been munching on the crust when a tall figure appeared to be approaching her. Not knowing of any threatening rumors, she remained in her place, looking curiously towards this stranger. 

The stranger was wearing boots like hers, however they were a dark red, almost similar to the colour of wine her father would drink out of a glass after an exhausting day of working in the factory. 

However, the stranger did not look like someone working in the factory. 

Her hair was long and brushed to the side, falling over her left shoulder. She was holding a little brown paper bag in the opposite hand. As the stranger came closer, Rosy could see on her face that there was a question waiting to be asked. 

Finally, the woman had come close enough for her to speak and be heard by the girl. 

As she opened her mouth, Rosy was surprised to hear a voice that reminded her of the road, cars accelerating too quickly and making the tires burn. 

The question was an easy one: “How do I get to the local letter office?”. The woman must have moved here a while ago and not know her way around yet. 

But before Rosy was able to form these thoughts she had to ask the woman to repeat her question two times more. 

Her “L” sounded too much like an “R” to be understandable to a girl like Rosy, who had only heard her peers and family speak, which they all did quite similarly. 

So, when the scratching voice of the stranger asked for the post office, she sounded like the was asking for directions to the residence of Swedish author Philipp Maximilian Opiz’ residence. It was clearly a question, so much she could tell from the woman’s intonation, it went up and down more than it ever did when Rosy asked her parents about things that tickled her curiosity, and the woman had pauses in her delivery in odd places, however a question sounded like a question in most languages, it seemed, as Rosy could still discern it as such. 

Rosy had to think long and hard about what the woman might have been looking for. Upon seeing the younger’s confusion, the stranger opened the paper bag that was still in her right hand. 

She tilted the bag so that Rosy could see inside. The girl saw several letters, all seeming to be written in a different language, as she could not discern thee characters at all. 

The more she looked at the woman, the more it made sense to Rosy, that she must not only come from another country, but from a different continent as well. Her hair was black, and her skin looked like porcelain. The fabric on her skin looked shiny and silken and her eyes were dark and shiny. 

Rosy concluded that this woman must have travelled from afar to this small city of hers to have a vacation, there could be no way that someone looking as mysterious as her could have true interest in a small town in the Nordic country she called her home. 

Rosy had understood the question and answered while pointing to her right. She spoke slow and clearly, trying to flatten her round vowels so that it would be easier for the stranger to understand. Rosy tried to articulate herself better than usual, remembering the reprimands of her mother as she used to mumble, whenever she spoke to strangers because of her shy nature around people she didn’t know. 

The stranger must have understood her, either because of Rosy’s focus on how she came across or perhaps more so of the finger the girl was pointing towards the road. 

The woman nodded her head once and let her body follow this motion so that she was bowing slightly, while muttering a “Thank you”, way more understandable for the girl, perhaps because this phrase is one that people use much more often and therefore practice more as well. 

Rosy smiled and watched the woman walk away. Her boots were a stark contrast against the green grass that had been rained upon the previous day. 

The woman must have been a heavy smoker, Rosy mused, as her speech reminded the girl of a river flowing through the mountains, but the scratching of her throat was incredibly different and transforming the deliverance of her words. 

Now, months later, Rosy was sitting under her usual tree without a jam sandwich. She didn’t need it, because her friend would bring food, as she was old enough o use the hearth and the oven, so that often she could bring savory and sweet foods for her younger acquaintance. Just as she thought about her newly found friend, this person came closer, the same way she had done all those weeks ago, still in her dark red boots but without her letters. They had arrived in Korea safely. 

Rosy and Jung-Ah smiled at each other from the distance.


End file.
